


Thanksgiving Prep? More Like Doomsday Prepping

by Ididntsignupforthisshit (myhamartia)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Albert's Incessant Hate For Store-Bought Pie, Elmer and Albert are amazing grandparents fight me, Elmer's a knitter, Established Relationship, M/M, Thanksgiving Preparations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 01:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12570668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhamartia/pseuds/Ididntsignupforthisshit
Summary: "Mom wants to know what y'all are bringing for Thanksgiving. Turkey's taken care of, so's the stuffing and potatoes. They mainly want you to bring a side dish, you know?" Race set his phone face-down on his knee. "Also, Dad #2 says that you can't sayyou'll decide when it gets time, because that's theworstand it makes him want to pull his hair out. Also, Dad #1 says that if you forget to make the cranberry sauce like last year, then he's putting himself up for adoption."Elmer snorted. "I'd like to see him try."Race shook his head sullenly. "He'll do it, Granddad. Don't test him. Cranberry sauce is no joke."Or: wherein Race is tasked with making sure his grandfathers Elmer and Albert make the family favorite cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving. Elmer knits, Albert is protective of his ice cream and hates store-bought pies, and Race eats like 5 yogurt cups.





	Thanksgiving Prep? More Like Doomsday Prepping

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, all you need to know is that Elmer and Albert are two old geezers in love. Jack is their adopted son. Jack is in a beautiful, loving relationship with David and Katherine, and they have a son named Race.
> 
> _Also, I didn’t make Elmer knit just bc he’s a grandpa. Race knows how to knit, too. and so does Jack. I might make this a series and explore their family more *shrug* ___
> 
> __  
> _and like  
>  im thinking that I'm going to make this into a series. Yay? Nay? idk. tell me when you get done, I guess._  
> 

Elmer settled into the couch cushions, enjoying the warmth the fireplace gave the room. Albert shifted in his lap every now and again, and Elmer just knew that there would be angry red sleep-lines tattooed on his cheeks when he awoke. But still, Elmer didn't shift, nor wake up his husband. His fingers were occupied, working tirelessly with the knitting needles he held.

He'd stop every now and again, to stretch out his hands, but then he would get right back to work.

After another good hour or so of working on his knit, Elmer sighed and dropped it to the arm of the couch. He leaned tiredly back in his seat and ran his fingers through Albert's silver-specked hair. Albert hummed in his sleep and shifted lightly. He cracked an eye open to peek up at Elmer. He smiled sleepily.

"Am I dead? 'Cause you're a bonafide angel."

Elmer laughed and tugged at a small strand of hair behind Albert's right ear. "You're senile."

"Some would call it love," Albert grumped, burrowing down into Elmer's lap again.

Elmer laughed.

He took up his needles again and was sure at work again when there was a knock against the glass pane of the front door. The visitor didn't wait for anyone to answer the door, just strode on in. Elmer looked behind the couch, trying to crane his neck so he could see around the corner to the doorway. Really, it could only have been one of two people: their son Jack, or their grandson Race. Literally anyone else would have had the decency to know.

"It's your grandson," Albert said, not even looking up.

Elmer looked down at him, startled. " _ My _ grandson?" he parroted.

"Yep. Yours. He isn't my grandson when he comes in unannounced. I taught him better than that."

"You used to sneak into my apartment when you needed a place to cool off, or you got in trouble with your mom," Elmer pointed out. "I didn't even know you had a key."

"That's because I didn't," Albert said. He looked up at Elmer, grinning brilliantly. "I'm good with a pin."

Elmer flicked his nose petulantly.

"Granddad? Gramps?" came a call from the kitchen.

"The living room," Albert called. "Told you," he said, smirking. He basked in his smugness for all of six seconds before he jumped up to a sitting position. Well, as fast as Albert's age would allow him. He looked over the back of the sofa, eyes narrowed in a glare. "You stay out of the freezer, young man. That stuff isn't yours."

Elmer heard Race sigh loudly.

"Gramps, you know that you ain't gonna eat all that ice cream."

"Sure as hell ain't gonna stop me from trying," Albert shot back.

" _ Fine _ ." Elmer heard the fridge door shut, but the tell-tale rattle of the silverware drawer opening. Race made his appearance with a yogurt cup-in hand, a spoon tucked behind his ear as he worked the aluminium lid off of the plastic container. "I'll stay out of your stinking hoard of ice cream."

He came around to the back of the couch and wrapped his arms around Elmer, mindful of his yogurt.

Elmer hugged him tightly and sighed into his shoulder.

Race pointedly ignored Albert, and Albert grumbled about "spoilt grandkids, these days."

"How's your dad?" Elmer asked as Race moved around to plop down into the recliner to their right.

"Still sick," Race said. "He's lost his voice now. Which is hilarious, because he'll try to paint, and then he'll take a sip of his paint water, bringing on this whole rant about how people keep moving his coffee cups and replacing them with his water mugs. And it's all croaky and shit, because of his throat." He laughed and stirred up his yogurt. "He's going senile."

"Taking after his dad." Elmer grinned down at Albert who made a face. With a great effort, Albert maneuvered himself to stand, placing both feet flat on the ground before he could levy himself up.

"You two are awful mean to me," he declared.

"Dunno how you keep him around," Race joked. He crossed one ankle over his knee and relaxed into the recliner as Albert stalked across the room, back towards the kitchen.

"A mystery even to me." Elmer laughed. He picked up his knitting needles and clicked away.

"Huh." Race swivelled back and forth in the chair, eating his yogurt in peaceful silence. After a moment, he made a little sound and straightened up, pointing at his grandfather with his spoon. "I was sent over here with a purpose."

"Of course you were," Albert grumped, still in the kitchen.

Race rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Mom wanted to know what y'all are bringing for Thanksgiving. The... Hang on." He paused and dug his phone out of his jacket pocket and looked at it intensely. "Okay. Turkey's taken care of, so's the stuffing and potatoes. They mainly want you to bring a side dish, you know?" He set his phone face-down on his knee. "Dad #2 says that you can't say  _ you'll decide when it gets time _ , because that's the worst and it makes him want to pull his hair out. Also, Dad #1 says that if you forget to make the cranberry sauce like last year, then he's putting himself up for adoption."

Elmer snorted. "I'd like to see him try."

Race shook his head sullenly. "He'll do it, Granddad. Don't test him. Cranberry sauce is no joke."

"It's true," Albert agreed. He came out of the kitchen and sat back down on the couch. His bowl held a generous two scoops of peppermint ice cream and Race leered at him for it. "It's been his favorite ever since he was seven."

"Exactly." Race nodded firmly.

"Put us down for the cranberry sauce, then." Elmer shrugged. That wasn't a problem.

"Nu-huh."

Elmer frowned, looking up at his grandson. "Why?"

"Didn't think it'd be that easy, did you?" He snorted. "Dad #2 already put you down for the cranberry sauce. Mom wants to know what you're making  _ in addition _ to it."

Elmer groaned, setting down his knitting.

"Creamed corn?" he asked.

Race blanched. "Nobody eats that. Sorry, Granddad, it's the honest truth. We've all given up trying to stomach it. That's the dish that no one touches; it doesn't even get  _ uncovered _ . It just sits there under the foil and cries. It  _ cries _ , Granddad"

"Christ," Albert muttered under his breath. Elmer agreed.

"We could... buy a pie?" Elmer said. He was grasping at straws, he knew.

Albert glared at him. "Fuck you, we aren't buying a pie. They never taste as good as the homemade ones, and their crusts are disgusting. They're overpriced, sometimes you have to cook them in the oven yourself-,"

"Okay. No corn and no pie, then."

"You can have pie, you can't just buy it!" Albert tried to cut in.

Elmer went right on. "Race, have any suggestions?"

Race shrugged. "You could make that green bean casserole that Mom likes," he suggested.

Albert crinkled his nose. "No one likes that but her."

"She told me to bring it up," he told them.

More possibilities came and went, all of them were tossed out to the proverbial garbage fire. Half an hour later, all seated around the kitchen table, Elmer had fully taken over his husband's ice cream, and Race was in the kitchen again, this time making himself a cup of coffee. He had gone through three more yogurts.

It was then that Albert straightened, a gleam to his eyes. "Wait. Hold on. Who has the bread?" he asked.

Race palmed his phone from his pocket and looked at the little chart. "Uhm. Okay. Dad #1 voted that we just buy the rolls." He frowned, his distaste of that option obvious. "And Uncle Tommy is considering making them."

Albert hummed, a gleam in his eye. "Has Tommy confirmed it?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

His grandfather grinned wolfishly. "Then fuck Tommy. We're doing the bread," he declared.

Racer grinned and went back to his phone, presumably to text his mother with the plan. "Dope. I've got you down for the roles and the cranberry sauce."

Elmer sighed as he stood, popping old joints as he stretched. "You've got me down for the cranberry sauce. Your grandfather over there will be the one dealing with the bread, I've got no part in it."

Albert snorted. "I'll be fine," he assured him. "Besides, what are grandchildren for, if not to help you with the physical labor having to do with kneading bread dough?"

"Hardy har, nice joke," Race laughed sarcastically. He took two sips of his coffee and put it down on the counter. "And wouldya look at the time, I gotta split."

He barely took the time to throw away his latest yogurt cup, and to dump and wash out his coffee mug before he was saying his farewells, giving quick hugs and bolting out the door.

Elmer took Albert's ice cream bowl to the sink, shaking head in amusement.

"I swear, we should start calling Thanksgiving preparations Doomsday Preparations. That's what it feels like."

Albert laughed behind him, and Elmer smiled at the sound.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://itsnewstome.tumblr.com)   
>  _come yell at me! ___


End file.
